


White Boy Awesome

by level3puckbunny



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/level3puckbunny/pseuds/level3puckbunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of how Brayden Schenn and Sean Couturier ended up dating. Includes lots of Yuengling, helpful advice from various teammates and a brother, Jake Voracek screwing everything that moves, and gratuitous use of the word "queefcookie." And, you know, feelings and stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Boy Awesome

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequel to Over Easy that explains how Sean and Brayden got together in the first place. What I can't explain is how it ended up being nine million words long. The title is taken from Mac Miller's "Knock Knock", the song the Flyers play in their dressing room after a win.

            Brayden Schenn did not like Sean Couturier.

            He knew that he was supposed to. They were both rookies on the Flyers, after all—well, Brayden was less of a rookie then Sean, since he’d played a couple games for the Kings last season, but they were both pretty fucking wet behind the ears—and the Philadelphia media seemed to expect that two guys playing hockey for the same team who were around the same age and had been through juniors at about the same time would automatically be bros. Fuck, they’d even played on the same World Juniors team, on which Brayden had been _awesome_ , and Sean had been, well, less awesome. Still, though, Brayden did not like Sean. He wasn’t sure _why_ , but at the moment he had much bigger problems to be worrying about. The whole playing-professional-hockey thing.

            Brayden had been out of commission most of the fall and stretching into the winter, bouncing on and off the injured reserve, until finally he was called back up to the big club in late December. Out of a combination of laziness and practicality, he moved into Claude Giroux’s place, a move that seemed especially sensible considering he might end up going back to Adirondack, and fuck if he was going to pay rent on a Philadelphia apartment he wasn’t using. Also, Claude was cool, and totally understanding one Friday night after a game when Brayden staggered through the door shitfaced wasted and with a puck bunny on his arm.

            “Oh,” Brayden said, stopping short when he saw that Claude was sitting on the couch watching something on TV and demolishing a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Claude glanced over his shoulder at Brayden and the girl—shit, what was her name? Something with a J. Jennifer? Jessica?—and grinned.

            “Go easy on him,” he said to the girl. “He’s, like, not legal in some states.” She was gaping, and then managed to form a sentence.

            “Are you Claude Giroux?” That made Claude’s grin widen as Brayden tried desperately to suppress his eye-roll.

            “Yeah, I am.”

            “Can I have your autograph?” she breathed, and Claude choked down a laugh.

            “Sure.”

            Brayden slept with her anyway.

            “Loser,” Claude said over breakfast the next morning. Brayden glared.

            “You would have done the same thing, shut up.”

            “No, I wouldn’t have.” Claude gulped down some orange juice. “She wasn’t that hot. And her tits were totally fake.”

            “Didn’t notice.”

            “Of course you didn’t notice. You could barely walk in a straight line. Also, you turn bright fucking pink when you’re drunk, it’s kind of hilarious.” Brayden flipped Claude off, which made him laugh. “Oh, by the way.”

            “What?” Brayden asked grumpily, reaching for the orange juice.

            “I’m going to Danny’s for dinner tonight.” This was not uncommon. Claude had lived with Danny Briere last season and was still very close with him and  his three sons. “You should come.”

            “I’m okay.” Claude shot Brayden a _look_.

            “Danny invited you specifically. And if what you’re thinking is that you’re going to go out again tonight, you’re an idiot. We have a game tomorrow, and I highly doubt you want to risk being traded to Columbus by showing up to skate hungover.” Columbus was the stuff of nightmares for Brayden, actually.

            “Didn’t Carter get traded to Columbus because he fucked Hartnell’s-”

            “None of your goddamn fucking business, Schenn,” Claude snapped, and Brayden realized he’d stepped out on thin ice.

            “Sorry,” he said quietly. There was an awkward silence.

            “So anyway,” Claude said, “come over to Danny’s. Hang out with the kids, play some video games, eat dinner. You’ll enjoy yourself more than you think.”

            “Fine,” Brayden said.

            Claude pulled his car up in front of Danny’s house early that evening and Brayden got out, following Claude up the driveway to the front door.

            “Who does that thing belong to?” he asked, indicating a horribly banged-up old Jeep sitting in Danny’s driveway.

            “It’s Sean’s,” Claude said, making a face. “Awful, right?” Brayden nodded, swearing to himself mentally. He’d totally forgotten that Sean lived with Danny now. That upped the level of how awkward this dinner was going to be.

            Claude didn’t even bother ringing the doorbell—he just opened the front door and went right in, Brayden trailing behind him. Claude ditched his coat in a pile in the foyer and then headed back towards where Brayden could hear voices and the sound effects of some video game.

            Sitting on a couch in Danny’s living room were three boys who were obviously Danny’s sons, each a differently sized miniature copy of him. In the middle of the three of them, holding a video game controller and trying desperately to beat what looked like _Soulcalibur_ something-or-other, was Sean. The biggest Briere kid was holding the other controller and apparently fighting him. At the sound of footsteps Sean looked up, and his hands stilled on the controller for a second.

            “Hi,” he said, almost shyly, just as the kid managed to spear him through with a sword.

            “Ha!” Sean looked over at the kid, before suddenly getting him in a headlock and giving him a noogie. “Hey! _Hey_!”

            “Brayden,” Claude said, trying very hard not to laugh, “you know Sean, and these are Cam, Carson, and the one Sean is embarrassing is Caelan.” Brayden raised a hand awkwardly, waving hello.

            “Hey.”

            “Hi,” the three boys chorused, even Caelan who was still in Sean’s grip. At that moment Danny Briere came out of what looked like the kitchen, a slightly helpless expression on his face.

            “Claude, thank God, there you are!” Claude sighed heavily.

            “What did you burn _now_ , Danny?”

            “Lasagna,” Danny said, red-faced, and Claude rolled his eyes as he headed into the kitchen.

            “It’s grilled cheese tonight, guys,” he said over his shoulder.

            “Can you put bacon in it?” Caelan asked hopefully.

            “Do you have any bacon?” Claude asked Danny, who nodded. “Okay, who wants bacon?” Everyone, Brayden included, raised their hands. “Got it.” He went into the kitchen, presumably to start making everyone grilled cheese and bacon sandwiches, and Sean looked up at Brayden.

            “You can, you know, sit down.” Brayden took a seat at the end of the couch, somewhat awkwardly as Caelan was still flailing in his space. Sean released him and sat back up, reaching for the controller and tossing it at Brayden. “Want to play?”

            “Sure,” Brayden said, even though he didn’t really like any of the Soulcaliburs. It just would have seemed rude to say no. Caelan sat up, before looking over at him.

            “Who do you want to play as?” Brayden looked over at Sean.

            “I guess I’ll play as whoever he was, right?” Sean and Caelan exchanged amused looks. “What?”

            “You’ll see,” Caelan said, and Sean snorted. A few moments later, Brayden did see.

            “You’re playing as a Japanese schoolgirl?” he said in shock to Sean, who held up both his hands.

            “Chinese, man! She’s totally Chinese. Don’t be racist.”

            “Oh, God,” Brayden said under his breath, and then Caelan’s Darth Vader hit him upside the head with a lightsaber.

            After three rounds of Brayden being solidily conquered by the middle schooler, Sean stood up.

            “Abandoning me?” Brayden asked, annoyed, because even if he didn’t like Sean all that much he didn’t want to be left to the mercy of the Briere boys in any way, shape, or form. He wasn’t sure he’d come out of that alive. Instead, Sean took a seat right next to him and put his hands over Brayden’s on the controller. His hands were bigger than Brayden’s. It was a strange realization, because that was a rare event, finding someone whose hands were bigger than his.

            “No, I’m just getting sick of watching you lose. Here. Try this.” He pressed a couple buttons to demonstrate. “And then, if you follow it with _this_ -“ He pressed a few more buttons, and suddenly Darth Vader was on the floor—or, the deck of the pirate ship they were fighting on.

            “Hey!” Caelan said. “No fair. He should have to learn the hard way. Throw him in the deep end, all that shit.”

            “Caelan, don’t swear,” came Danny’s voice from the kitchen.

            “How did you even hear that?” Caelan asked, astonished.

            “Parental instincts.”

            “God, you’re a freak,” Caelan muttered under his breath.

            “It’s not nice to call your father a freak,” Claude called, and Caelan jumped a foot in the air.

            “What the hell, Claude?”

            “That one was just a lucky guess.” Brayden found himself laughing in spite of himself, and when he looked over at Sean he saw the other rookie was cracking up too. It was then that he realized Sean’s hands were still over his on the controller. Sean recalled this at the same moment and quickly let go.

            “Sorry,” he muttered. “Anyway, try that. That’s practically all I do with this character, and it kicks Caelan’s ass every time.”

            “Thanks,” Brayden said. “Caelan, you set?”  
            “I guess,” he said, disgruntled. Sean was right—knowing those two moves and doing a lot of button-mashing, Brayden was actually able to beat Caelan a few times before Claude appeared at the doorway to the kitchen.

            “Food’s ready.” The boys had stampeded into the kitchen before Claude finished the sentence.

            Brayden had been aware of Claude’s skill at making grilled cheese sandwiches, but apparently Sean hadn’t, because he seemed very surprised at how good it was.

            “He eats one before every game,” Brayden told Sean, “it makes sense he’d be good at it by now.”

            “He eats one before every game?” Sean whispered back. “How does he not get sick of them? That’s a lot of grilled cheese.” Brayden shrugged.

            “He’s a weird guy, I dunno.” Sean snorted. “No, really. That whole normal-hockey-star thing is just an act. He’s eight kinds of messed up, I swear to you. I live with him, I know.”

            “And you haven’t even found my chest of bondage gear,” Claude said from the end of the table, and both the rookies jumped.

            “Claude,” Danny said, amused but warning. “The boys.”

            “Are at the other end of the table and not paying attention.”

            “You have a chest of bondage gear?” Brayden said, returning to the matter at hand—namely, whether he was going to stumble through the door drunk one day and discover someone suspended from the living room ceiling—and Claude grinned at him evilly.

            “Maybe.”

            “He’s bullshitting you,” Danny said calmly. “He’s vanilla as all get-out.”

            “You ruin all my fun,” Claude said, looking over at Danny with a pout, and Brayden was once more reminded of the creeping feeling he usually got when he was with Claude and Danny—that there might, you know, be _Claude and Danny_. It wasn’t something he had a problem with, per se, but it was a weird thought. Especially since Sean was now sleeping in what had been Claude’s bed the year before, and that was kind of gross if Claude and Danny had done gay shit in that bed.

            “This is really good, Claude,” Sean said, looking around Brayden.

            “It is,” Brayden said around a mouthful.

            “Thank you, thank you,” Claude said, mock-bowing.

            “What’s bondage gear?” a voice piped up from the other end of the table, and Brayden and Sean looked at each other and burst out laughing.

            After that, slowly but surely, Brayden began to warm up to Sean. It was a process, but it was definitely a process that started that night. In late January, after dinner at Danny’s and then a hotly contested NHL 12 tournament in which Carson Briere had owned everyone in the room, Brayden nudged Sean as Claude and Danny got the kids into bed.

            “Want to go out?” Sean looked at him, eyes wide.

            “What do you mean?”

            “I mean, do you want to go out?”

            “Like, to a bar?” Brayden rolled his eyes.

            “Yeah, like, to a bar.”

            “I’m nineteen,” Sean said, like this was a prohibitive thing. “This isn’t Canada.”

            “You don’t have a fake?” Sean shook his head. Brayden smacked his forehead with his palm. “Jesus Christ, Coots, are you fucking kidding me?”

            “Fuck you.” Sean was pink in the face. “Some of us don’t like going out and getting wasted.”

            “Clearly you’re not going out and getting wasted with the right people, bro.”

            “You’re the right people?” Brayden grinned at him, widely.

            “You bet your ass I am. C’mon. You drive, I’ll deal with the issue of your lack of I.D. Or you can have a Shirley Temple or something, I don’t really care.”

            “Fuck you,” Sean said again, but he grabbed his keys out of a bowl near the door and headed outside anyway.

            “Why don’t you get a new car?” Brayden asked as he climbed into the front seat of Sean’s much-abused Jeep. The upholstery was worn and the paint was chipping in places, and there was a dent in the back bumper. “You have a fucking NHL contract now, you can afford it, and this thing really is a piece of shit.”

            “I like it,” Sean said, but it wasn’t defensively, it was just a calm statement. “I’ve had it since I started driving. I don’t want a new car.”

            “Okay, whatever,” Brayden said, leaning back in his seat. Sean turned and smiled at him briefly, and Brayden blinked. He tended to forget that Sean looked completely different with teeth and not covered in sweat. In, like, a good way.

            “So where are we going?”

            “Drive into Philly,” Brayden told him. “There’s a bar in Old City that might look the other way if, you know, I agree to fuck the waitress or something. That’s how selfless I am, by the way.” Sean was laughing. “What?”

            “You’re just convinced every woman everywhere is hot for your dick, aren’t you?”  
            “Well, yeah,” Brayden said, only half jokingly. Sean snorted.

            “With your luck, the waitress will turn out to be a dude, and then where will you be?”  
            “I dunno,” Brayden said lightly. “Depends on the dude. Some of them might be hot for my dick too.” And then Sean breezed right through a stop sign, nearly T-boning a Camry. “Fuck it, Couturier! What the hell?”

            “Sorry!” Sean’s whole face was bright, bright red. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t…I’m sorry.” He took a deep breath. “So. Bar. Old City. Where in Old City?”

            “Somewhere on Chestnut Street.” Sean gave him a dubious look.

            “Do you know how long Chestnut Street is?”  
            “Just park the damn car somewhere and we’ll find it.”

            Despite Sean’s loudly voiced doubts, after he parked the Jeep Brayden led him almost immediately to a bar in Old City called Darcy’s. They went in and took seats in a booth, and the waitress (it was in fact a waitress) came over. She looked to be in her late twenties, with dark hair in a ponytail and a businesslike facial expression.

            “What can I get you guys?” she asked, looking them over. Brayden smiled his best, most charming smile at her.

            “Two Yuenglings.”

            “Okay. Can I see some I.D.?” Brayden fished out his fake and handed it to her, and she scrutinized it, all while Sean sat there awkwardly, apparently unsure of what to do with his hands. The waitress studied Brayden’s fake, tilted it back and forth a couple times, and then looked back up at Brayden. He saw the recognition dawn on her face now that she was really looking at him, and then she snorted. Loudly.

            “Okay, that wins.” Brayden and Sean looked at each other, slightly confused.

            “What wins?” She handed Brayden back his fake I.D.

            “Look, I might be just your ordinary American waitress, but even I know that your name isn’t Paul Bure. Expecting that people won’t make the leap from Paul to Pavel is just dumb.” Brayden gaped, and Sean went off into a fit of hysterical giggles.

            “You went with _Paul Bure_ as the name on your fake I.D.?” he managed to choke out. “Are you functionally retarded?” The waitress was laughing too, but seemed to take pity on Brayden.

            “You are Brayden Schenn, aren’t you?” Brayden managed a nod. “Your goal in the Winter Classic was gorgeous.” Her eyes, keen and dark brown, flicked over to Sean. “And you’re Sean Couturier.”

            “Yeah.” She turned her attention back to Brayden.

            “So what gives? Soft spot for Bure?” Brayden nodded again.

            “He…he was my favorite when I was a kid,” he said, and the waitress nodded approvingly.

            “So he’s why you wear number 10, then, right?” Both Brayden and Sean gaped, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ve been watching hockey since I was a toddler. I know who Pavel Bure is.”

            “Oh.” Brayden was at a loss for words, but then Sean piped up.

            “So I guess ‘no’ on the Yuengling, right?” The waitress looked from Brayden to Sean to Brayden again, and sighed.

            “Fuck it. Don’t move.” She left, and Sean leaned over to Brayden.

            “What was that about all women being hot for your dick?”

            “Shut the fuck up, Coots.”

            “Do you think she’s calling the cops on us? My dad will kill me if I get arrested for underage drinking before the playoffs have even started.”

            “Yeah, and my dad will be happy as a clam. One time, Luke’s billet family found a bottle of Crown Royal under his bed, and Dad made them search his room and take away all his porn.” Sean looked horrified by this.

            “Whoa.” He blinked. “But he can’t, like, make Claude search your room and take away your porn, right?”

            “I dunno. Claude’s sadistic enough.” There were footsteps, and they looked up to see the waitress, balancing a tray on which were two pints of beer. She put the beers down in front of the two of them, before grinning.

            “You guys better tip real good.”

            Brayden tried to pace himself to keep up with Sean, drink for drink, but after a while he just started to ask for more when he was done and didn’t bother waiting for Sean. After God knows how many drinks, he got up to pee and wobbled a little.

            “You okay there?” Sean was red in the face, but looked otherwise irritatingly unaffected.

            “Fine,” Brayden said, and he went to the bathroom, peed, and then returned to their booth just in time to see Sean hand an autographed napkin and a stack of bills to the waitress. She smiled at Brayden, pocketing the money and the napkin.

            “Come back anytime, you guys,” she said before leaving. Brayden looked over at Sean, annoyed.

            “I wasn’t _done_.”

            “Yes, you were,” Sean said calmly as he slid out of the booth and stood up, taking Brayden’s elbow and steering him out of the bar and into the cold January air. Brayden shivered.

            “Did you at least get my-” Sean handed him his coat. “Thanks,” Brayden said grudgingly, shrugging it on.

            “I can’t drive,” Sean said.

            “Why not?” Brayden asked, confused, and Sean rolled his eyes.

            “Because I just drank half my weight in Yuengling? Because I really don’t feel like getting pulled over for not only a DUI, but an underage DUI?”

            “You sound fine,” Brayden said stupidly.

            “Just because I’m not slurring my words and seeing two of everything doesn’t mean I’m not drunk.”

            “You’re drunk?” And then Sean smacked him upside the head.

            “Which way is Claude’s apartment? And can we walk, or should I hail a cab?” Brayden looked around, trying to get his bearings, before pointing.

            “It’s this way.”

            They walked through the cold together in companionable silence. Brayden was in fact starting to see two of everything, and Sean must have noticed he was blinking and weaving a little because he grabbed Brayden’s arm, looping his around it. After a while, Sean stopped, making Brayden stop too.

            “What’s up?”

            “Brayden,” Sean said carefully, “this is Second Street.” Brayden blinked, looking around.

            “Oh. You’re right.”

            “Claude does not live on Second Street, Brayden. Claude does not live anywhere near Second Street. I would have remembered being that near the river.” Sean sounded exasperated but also highly amused.

            “Oh,” Brayden said, his voice small. “I went the wrong way.”

            “God, you’re a moron,” Sean mumbled, digging his phone out of his pocket as he simultaneously stepped off the curb and started trying to hail a cab. “Hey, Claude? It’s Coots. What’s your address, man? Brayden’s forgotten it and we’re at, like, Second and Chestnut and he’s pretty much drooling on me.” Brayden could hear Claude’s laughter coming out of the phone, it was so loud. “Yeah, he’s pathetic, I know,” Sean said with a grin down at Brayden. “Okay. Thanks. See you soon. Bye.” He managed to get a cab just as he hung up the phone. Sean manhandled Brayden into the cab and gave the cabbie Claude’s address. Brayden slumped over, in the direction that meant he was leaning on Sean’s shoulder, and maybe he _was_ drooling a bit, fuck everything. He didn’t know how long it was until the cab stopped, Sean paid the cabbie, and then he was manhandled out of the cab, through a lobby, up in an elevator until they were standing in front of a door and Sean stuck his hand in Brayden’s pocket.

            “Jesus!” Brayden yelped, as Sean extracted his keyring from his jeans pocket and started to try keys.

            “Be quiet, or you’ll wake the neighbors,” Sean hissed as he managed to get the door open and pulled Brayden through.

            The apartment was dark and quiet, which Brayden took to mean that Claude was in his room sleeping or watching porn or doing something else private.

            “Where’s Claude?” he asked Sean.

            “Probably in his room. I woke him up when I called.” Sean sounded contrite about that, which made Brayden laugh.

            “You’re so fucking Canadian, oh my God.”

            “Says the kid from fucking Saskatoon,” Sean responded lightly. “Where’s your bedroom?” Brayden pointed, and Sean half-dragged him over to it, getting the door open and pushing Brayden through. “Go to sleep, Schenner.”

            “I’m not tired.” It came out sounding more like one long, slurred word, and Brayden didn’t really care.

            “Right. Sure. You’re just drunk off your ass. Go collapse.”

            And it was then, for whatever reason—probably the fact that Sean’s hand was still resting on his arm in a warmly comforting fashion—Brayden leaned in and pressed his mouth firmly against Sean’s. He heard Sean’s quick intake of breath, and then felt the way his hand tightened on Brayden’s arm, before dropping it and grabbing his shoulders. For a second, Brayden thought it was to pull him closer, and mentally high-fived himself, but instead Sean pushed him away, gently but firmly.

            “Brayden.” Sean’s voice was quiet, and he couldn’t read it, not that he could ever read Sean even when he was sober. “Please…no. Not now.” Well, Brayden could recognize a rejection when he heard one.

            “Okay,” he said, blinking, blinking hard, and then finally taking a step back and nearly falling. Sean reached out automatically to catch him, but Brayden slapped his hands away. “I’m _fine_.” He turned, and heard a sigh from behind him and then the sound of the door clicking shut as he collapsed facefirst onto his bed, fully dressed, and willed himself into passing out.

            Brayden woke up the next morning with a hangover of momentous proportions and the memory of something having gone very wrong the night before. He sat up, checking to make sure he had all his fingers and toes—okay. That wasn’t it.

            He got up and headed out to the living room, and stopped cold. The blanket and pillow on the couch, folded and stacked neatly at one end—someone had spent the night on his and Claude’s living room couch. Someone very polite. Someone-

            Brayden closed his eyes in horror.

            “Fuck.”

            “What’s wrong?” Claude asked, sticking his head into the living room from the kitchen. “Also, where the hell is Coots? Didn’t he come home with you?”  
            “He must have left already,” Brayden said dully, collapsing on the couch.

            “Oh. Well, he’ll be at skate. I can thank him then for dragging your drunk ass home.” Claude walked around the couch and handed Brayden a bottle of Gatorade and a cup of coffee. “Drink these, and let’s see if we can get you human before practice.”

            In the dressing room before skate that day, Brayden had braced himself for Sean to act differently towards him, coldly, angrily, whatever, but instead when he came through the door he was greeted by a faint yet toothless smile and a wave.

            “Hey,” Sean said quietly. “How you feeling?” Brayden didn’t know how to answer that question honestly.

            “Okay,” he said finally. “Bit too much Yuengling, though.”

            “Just a bit,” Sean agreed, with a wide smile this time. Brayden looked down, focusing on getting his pads on.

            He and Sean fell into a pattern over the next few weeks. They still hung out, Brayden still went over to Danny’s to play video games with Sean and the boys, and they pretended like nothing had happened. Even so, there was no more drinking together and they were each very wary of physical contact.

            Frankly, it was driving Brayden insane.

            If Sean remembered Brayden kissing him—which he had to, he had been less drunk than Brayden, so if Brayden remembered it Sean ought to—why the hell was he still talking to Brayden at all? It made no sense. Sean was his teammate, his friend, and he’d come on to him. That broke half the rules in the bro-code. By the end of the second week, Brayden was trying to figure out why Sean didn’t yell “No homo!” every time he hit Brayden during practice. Not that, you know, Brayden wanted him to, but he just didn’t-

            “I don’t get you.” Sean blinked at him. Brayden had cornered Sean in the parking lot next to his Jeep at the Well after a game against the Predators.

            “What do you mean?” Brayden looked around. Everyone else was leaving, which meant there were a ton of people to overhear their conversation.

            “Get in the car,” he said finally, and Sean did as Brayden climbed into the passenger seat.

            “What don’t you get, Brayden?”

            “I kissed you,” he blurted out. Sean nodded.

            “You were drunk. You’d have kissed anything that stood still long enough.” He smiled at Brayden, almost perfectly convincingly. “I know it meant nothing. No big deal.” Brayden stared. “Schenner?”

            “I…” Brayden blinked. “You…” He shook his head as if to clear it. “No. No. You can’t think that. I wasn’t that drunk.”

            “Brayden.” Sean’s voice had a more serious edge to it. “I’m giving you an out. You should take it.”

            “I don’t want an out,” Brayden said, beginning to grow angry. “It _happened_ , you can’t just pretend it didn’t _happen_ , because it fucking did!” Sean’s face twisted, and then he looked around. The parking lot was nearly empty by then. He reached forward with one hand and turned Brayden’s face towards his. Suddenly Brayden could hear his heartbeat in his ears.

            “I’m giving you an out,” Sean repeated, slower and clearer this time. “You should _take it_.” His thumb skimmed along Brayden’s cheekbone. And it was with that gentle touch that Brayden _got it_ , he understood, everything fell into place and was suddenly clear as crystal.

            Why Sean was so shy around him at first.

            Why Sean had pushed him away when he’d been drunk.

            Why Sean wasn’t repulsed after Brayden had kissed him.

            And, most importantly, most _terrifyingly_ , why Brayden had disliked Sean almost on sight, and why that dislike had led almost directly to him trying to stick his tongue down Sean’s throat. It wasn’t dislike. It was the exact opposite.

            He pulled away, feeling vaguely nauseous, and wordlessly got out of Sean’s car before jogging across the parking lot to his own. Somehow, he got into it and drove to the parking garage in Old City where he and Claude kept their cars. From that parking garage, he made a beeline for Chestnut Street, and after a little looking managed to locate the right bar. He collapsed into a far corner booth and buried his face in his hands.

            “Hey, it’s Paul Bure.” He looked up to see the waitress who had served him and Sean what seemed like eons ago. “What can I get for you?”  
            “Whiskey,” Brayden said. “Five shots of whiskey.” Her eyebrows furrowed, and then she shook her head.

            “Sorry, no, we don’t serve shots of whiskey to underage hockey players having a gay crisis.”

            “What?” Brayden yelped, and she sighed.

            “Fuck, I was right.” The waitress sat down in the booth next to him. “What happened?”

            “How did you-” She rolled her eyes.

            “The way you looked at him once you got toasted said it all. I mean, really. Anyone could have told _that_.” She got up. “I’m getting you a beer. Wait here.” Like Brayden was about to go anywhere with the offer of alcohol standing. A few minutes later, she returned with a Yuengling. “You know what I’d do?”  
            “What?”

            “Call your best friend on the team, tell them to meet you here, and explain everything.”

            “My best friend on the team called Sean Avery a faggot.”

            “Yeah, but Avery is a douchenozzle and you’re his best friend.” This was a fair point. “Call Simmonds. I’ll give you free beer. Lure him with that.”

            Brayden dug out his phone and flicked through his address book until he reached WAYNE SIMMONDS. Then he hit CALL.

            “Hello?”

            “Simmer?”

            “Schenner? What’s up, man?”

            “Um.” Brayden bit his lip. “Um. I’m at a bar.”

            “Good for you?”

            “Can you meet me here?”

            “Is something wrong, kid?” Wayne asked, and Brayden took a deep breath.

            “I’m kinda having a gay crisis, Simmer.” There was a pause, and Brayden feared the worst. “Simmer?”

            “Where are you?”

            “Darcy’s, in Old City.”

            “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

            True to his word, twenty minutes later Wayne walked through the door of Darcy’s. With him were Matt Read, Zac Rinaldo, and a blonde girl Brayden didn’t recognize.

            “You brought your fucking entourage?” Brayden said in shock.

            “We were concerned,” Matt said. Zac nodded, and Brayden looked at the woman.

            “Who the hell are you?”

            “Brayden, this is Olivia,” Wayne introduced them. “She’s a friend of mine.”

            “So you brought your fucking hookup to my crisis. Thanks, Wayne. You’re a great friend.”

            “She’s a psychology major! I thought she might be able to help!” Wayne said defensively, and Brayden pointed to the bar.

            “Make her go wait at the bar.” Wayne rolled his eyes before turning to Olivia.

            “Can you wait at the bar, baby?”

            “Sure,” she said sweetly, before turning and walking over to take a seat on a barstool. Brayden looked at his teammates.

            “So you were concerned?”

            “Yeah. Simmer said something about a gay crisis?” Zac said, sitting down. Matt and Wayne squeezed into the booth with them, and a few moments later the waitress dropped off three beers.

            “Hi, boys,” she said with a grin. “Enjoy.”

            “Who’s she?” Matt asked in an undertone. “She’s hot.”

            “I thought you were worried about me,” Brayden said, annoyed.

            “We are,” Wayne said. “Does this have to do with Coots?”

            “Of course it does,” Brayden mumbled.

            “Who else would he have a massive gay crush on?” Zac asked.

            “Claude. Everyone likes Claude,” Matt said matter-of-factly.

            “That’s true,” Zac said, almost reflectively.

            “Guys!”

            “Look,” Wayne said, leaning across the table towards Brayden. “I don’t care about the details of your sex life with Coots.”

            “Then why the hell did you come, you dick?”  
            “To tell you that I don’t care about the details of your sex life with Coots.” Wayne grinned at him.

            “Neither do I,” Matt said, as he subtly made eyes at the waitress.

            “Neither do I,” Zac said. Brayden stared. “Nobody does. I mean, you still might not want to tell people, but we don’t care.”

            “You should go find Coots,” Wayne said. “Make up and shit. We’ll stay here, hold down the fort.”

            “Yeah,” Matt said, still looking at the waitress. “Fort. Hold it down. What’s her name, by the way?”  
            “I have no idea,” Brayden said.

            “BECKY!” the waitress called from where she was over by the bar chatting with Olivia.

            “Go,” Wayne said. “Go talk about your feelings and shit. God knows we don’t want to hear it.”

            “Thanks,” Brayden said, genuinely, as he got up and left.

            He stood outside the bar holding his phone for a very long time before he hit CALL.

            “’Lo?” The voice on the other end was sleepy.

            “Sean?” Brayden swallowed, hard. “Sean, it’s Brayden.” There was a long silence, during which Brayden worried that Sean had just hung up on him. “Are you there?”

            “Yeah, I’m here.”

            “I want to see you,” Brayden said, clutching his phone so tightly his knuckles were turning white.  “Can I come over to Danny’s place?” There was another long silence. “Sean?”

            “Yeah,” Sean said. “Come over.” Brayden let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

            “Okay,” he said. “I’ll see you soon.”

            “Yeah,” Sean said, and then there was a click as he hung up the phone.

            Rather than walk all the way back to the parking garage to pick up his car, Brayden took a taxi out to Haddonfield, something that cost more than even he would like to think about but seemed totally worthwhile when the cab pulled up outside Danny’s house and Brayden saw Sean sitting on the doorstep in pajama pants, flipflops and a winter coat. The pajama pants were too short for him and made it seem like he was a kid outgrowing his clothes. Brayden paid the cabbie and got out, walking up the driveway just as Sean stood up.

            “Why are you outside? You’re shivering,” Brayden said, feeling oddly like his mother in that moment. Sean shook his head, though.

            “Danny and the boys are home. I’m not having this conversation where they can hear.” He gestured to his Jeep, sitting in the driveway. “Get in, eh?” Brayden got in the passenger side, shutting his door and then turning to Sean, who was already seated and looking at him expectantly. “What’s going on, Brayden?”

            “I’m not drunk,” Brayden said immediately, because that was an important thing for Sean to know. “I smell like a bar, I know, but I’m not drunk.”

            “Okay.” Sean was looking at him intently. “You’re not drunk.” Brayden nodded. “But why are you here?”

            “I…” Brayden took a deep breath. “You know how I said I didn’t want an out?” The look on Sean’s face suddenly became guarded.

            “Yeah. I know.”

            “I _don’t_ ,” Brayden said, as emphatically as he could. “I don’t. I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t have kissed you if I hadn’t been wasted, but you’re wrong when if you think it didn’t mean anything just because I was shitfaced.” Sean was still looking at him, that guarded expression still on his face like he was steeling himself for what Brayden would say next, and Brayden realized he hadn’t said enough. “You know I thought for ages I didn’t like you? It was because being around you felt all weird. And then, earlier today when we were in the car, I realized that the problem wasn’t that I didn’t like you, it was that I liked you a lot, but not in a bro kind of way, you know?” He was babbling a little but didn’t care. “And that scared the shit out of me, Sean.”

            “I could tell.”

            “Christ, could you say more than three words at a time? You’re fucking killing me here.”

            “I don’t know what you want me to say,” Sean said, his eyes dropping. “This is a horrible idea.”

            “It’s a _great_ idea,” Brayden said fiercely. “Nobody will care, even if they find out. Rino and Simmer and Reader said so.”

            “When the fuck did you talk to them about this?” Sean demanded, and Brayden jumped when he realized that possibly for the first time Sean was genuinely angry with him. Not disappointed or annoyed or exasperated. _Angry_.

            “I called Simmer from the bar. He was out partying with Rino and Reader and they all came over to Darcy’s and told me that they didn’t care what we did. Just that. They didn’t care and they didn’t particularly want to know about it.” Sean sat there, glaring at him, and Brayden sighed. “Fuck, I didn’t know what else to do, and Simmer’s my best friend.”

            “You didn’t know what else to do because you _ran away from me_.” Now there was both anger and an undercurrent of hurt in Sean’s voice.

            “It was more like I was running away from reality, actually,” Brayden said honestly, and that made Sean look at him questioningly. “See, I like girls, so I always thought that I couldn’t like guys, I couldn’t be gay.”

            “Hm.” Sean sounded annoyed by this, but at least he wasn’t pissed off anymore. “And here I was, liking guys and _knowing_ that I’m gay.” The declaration for some reason didn’t surprise Brayden in the least.

            “So I was so fucking desperate to make what I was feeling for you into something— _anything_ —else,” he went on. “And then when we were in your car earlier, and you touched my face, I knew. I just fucking _knew_. Because I wanted to kiss you, so fucking bad, and I was stone cold sober and everything, and it just scared the shit out of me, Sean, okay? Maybe I wasn’t as quick on the uptake about liking dudes as you were, but I’m there now, and…I want you.” There was a spark behind Sean’s eyes at the last bit, and Brayden swallowed.

            Carefully, hesitantly, like he still wasn’t sure what Brayden’s response would be, Sean lifted a hand and touched Brayden’s face, gently tracing his thumb over Brayden’s cheekbone like he had earlier that day.

            “Okay then,” Brayden breathed, and he leaned in, pressing his lips firmly to Sean’s.

            He was frozen for a split second, afraid Sean was going to push him away again, until he felt a hand hook around the back of his neck and pull him in closer as Sean started to kiss him back. It was gentle and hesitant, very unlike the sloppy way Brayden usually kissed, but fuck if Brayden was going to do anything that might scare Sean off and make this stop. When he slid his tongue into Sean’s mouth he heard Sean sigh minutely and his hand tightened on the back of Brayden’s neck, which Brayden took as a sign that he could kiss Sean a little harder, a little more passionately. It turned into a _lot_ more passionately, and then Brayden pulled back, breathless and turned on but at the same time-

            “This is an awkward fucking angle, man.” Sean grinned at him.

            “Want to relocate?” Brayden nodded emphatically, even though he had no idea where the fuck Sean was going to take him, since Claude was at the Philly apartment and Danny and the boys were in the house. “Wait here.” Sean ran inside, and returned a few minutes later clutching his car keys and wallet. He got in and started the Jeep, backing out of Danny’s driveway and getting on the main road towards the city.

            “We can’t go to Claude’s place, he’s there,” Brayden said, and Sean nodded.

            “I know.” There was a long silence, during which Brayden’s leg jiggled up and down from nerves and Sean kept curling and uncurling his fingers on the steering wheel. They were driving through Cherry Hill by that point in time, and suddenly Sean made a right turn, into the parking lot of a seedy trucker motel, the kind where you drive right up to the room.

            “Seriously, Sean?” Brayden said, looking over at him. “Seriously? I don’t even get the Westin down the street?”

            “Do you want the desk clerk of that Westin to know that you and I are upstairs in a hotel room together?” Sean asked reasonably. “Here, they’ll ask way less questions.”

            “I know, but—this place looks like it rents by the fucking _hour_ , Sean.”

            “That’ll be more convenient anyway,” Sean deadpanned, and Brayden grabbed him by the front of his shirt and kissed him fiercely.

            “I plan on taking the whole night, I don’t know about you.” Sean grinned at him, a bit shakily.

            “Wait here, I’ll go get the key.” He got out of the car and walked into the office, and Brayden waited as patiently as he could, even though the five minutes it took Sean to rent the room seemed to be five hours. Finally, though, he saw Sean emerge from the office, and he jumped out of the Jeep and walked up to meet him.

            “Room 14,” Sean said, pointing. Brayden rolled his eyes.

            “Next time, we’re totally getting room 10, okay?”

            “Room 10 wasn’t available, I checked.”

            “You’re so sweet.” Sean shot him a quick grin over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to the room. Inside, it smelled like cigarette smoke and stale air, and Brayden took a deep breath.

            “Lovely, Sean. Really lovely. I can tell you really-” And then the next thing he knew he was slammed up against the back of the door and Sean’s tongue was halfway down his throat. Brayden moaned, pressing himself against Sean’s body as he pulled Sean even further into him, kissing him back. There was something slightly strange about making out with someone that much _taller_ than him—Brayden was six feet tall, he’d never kissed a girl who was taller than him even in heels. Tilting his face upwards was a different experience, but damn, did he get used to it quickly. Sean broke the kiss only to start attacking Brayden’s neck, sucking and biting right over his pulse point, and Brayden hung onto his shoulders desperately as he basically let Sean ravage him. Suddenly, Sean stepped back, and Brayden nearly fell right over. “What?” Sean pointed at the bed, and Brayden appreciated the way his hand was shaking.

            “Go. Sit.”

            “Sit?” Brayden asked questioningly, even though he went over to do it anyway. Sean walked over to where he was, before kneeling down in front of Brayden, and everything became clear. “Oh, God.” Sean didn’t say anything, just reached for the fly of Brayden’s pants. He got Brayden’s trousers and underwear down to around Brayden’s ankles, before pushing his knees apart and settling between them. He kissed the inside of Brayden’s thigh, just above his knee, and Brayden bit back a curse. “Sean, _please_.” He was painfully hard already just from anticipation.

            Sean leaned forward and slid Brayden’s cock into his mouth, and Brayden just barely was able to keep his hips from snapping forward. He groaned, eyes slipping closed as he tangled his fingers in Sean’s hair. Sean was carefully but thoroughly working him over, slowly sliding his mouth down on Brayden’s cock, until he pulled back and started just licking and sucking at the head. He was doing things with his tongue that made Brayden see stars, and he tried to find the words to tell Sean not to stop, to encourage him further, but all he could manage were some rather pathetic whimpering noises. Sean understood, though, and swallowed Brayden down again, and Brayden opened his eyes and looked down. The sight of Sean’s lips wrapped around his cock nearly undid him, and then Sean glanced upwards at him just as he did something absolutely evil with his tongue. That _actually_ undid him—Brayden cried out and came with absolutely no warning, his whole body shaking with the force of his orgasm.

            Sean pulled back, coughed, and gave Brayden a slightly amused dirty look.

            “You gotta warn a guy, Brayden.”

            “Sorry,” Brayden gasped out, now staring at the way Sean’s mouth was red and swollen and _he’d just sucked Brayden off_ , holy fuck. That was an introduction to gay shit he was going to remember. “Sorry, sorry.”

            “S’cool.” Sean stood up, and Brayden had a very nice view of the giant tent in his pajama pants.

            “Get naked, would you?” Brayden told him, still a little breathless but determined at the same time. “I want to make you come.” He had the immense pleasure of watching Sean turn beet red as he nearly tore his shirt trying to get it over his head. “Slow down, I’m not going anywhere.” Sean didn’t answer him, just kicked off his flipflops and yanked off his pajama bottoms, and then Sean Couturier was standing naked in front of him and Brayden was having a little trouble breathing. Brayden stood up, kicking his pants off his ankles and then taking his shirt off too, before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Sean’s neck, kissing him slowly and thoroughly. “What…what…do you want to do?” he finally asked, pulling back a little. In answer, Sean shoved him, hard, so he landed on his back on the mattress. “What the-” And then Sean was on top of him, pinning him down, and he kissed Brayden just as he ground his hips down into Brayden’s. “ _Sean_ …”

            “Fuck,” Sean muttered, heartfelt, into Brayden’s ear. “Fuck, Jesus fucking Christ…” And then he faded off into faint French mumblings, and Brayden took the opportunity to flip their positions. He was less than half-hard, and didn’t think that he was getting off again soon, but Sean—Sean was a different story, and he wanted nothing more at that moment than for Sean to come because of him.

            Experimentally, Brayden pressed his hips down into Sean’s, making sure to create as much friction as possible of Sean’s dick against his pelvis. Sean said something in French Brayden didn’t understand, but it _sounded_ good, so he did it again, quicker, with a little more force. Sean’s head snapped back and he moaned, arching up into Brayden.

            “There,” Brayden said triumphantly, and then he was grinding down against Sean in earnest, and Sean was gasping, moaning, begging brokenly in a mix of English and French. As much as he enjoyed hearing Sean’s French sex voice (it seemed to be a lot like his English sex voice, only hotter) Brayden really wanted to kiss him, and so he did, wet and sloppy and fucking _perfect_. That only lasted for a few minutes, though, before Sean pulled back and buried his face in Brayden’s shoulder, his fingers gripping Brayden’s biceps tight enough to leave marks.

            “ _Brayden_!” And then he was coming, gasping into Brayden’s shoulder, and Brayden held him through it, until Sean pulled back only to crash his lips into Brayden’s again. They kissed until things began to become uncomfortably sticky, after which Brayden got off Sean, stood up, and headed into the bathroom. He returned with a damp washcloth and wiped himself and Sean down with it. Sean was lying on his back with his eyes closed, seemingly asleep, and Brayden shook his shoulder.

            “C’mon, get up, we can get _into_ the bed.”

            “Yeah,” Sean said, and he did so. Brayden turned down the blankets and got into the bed (the mattress squeaked ominously as he did so), and Sean joined him. There was a moment of awkwardness when Brayden wasn’t sure what he should do next, but Sean solved his problem by shoving him over onto his side and nestling behind him so they were spooning.

            “Whoa,” Brayden said as Sean wrapped his arm around Brayden’s torso.

            “What?” Sean asked, nuzzling the back of Brayden’s neck before kissing the patch of skin behind his ear.

            “I’ve never been the little spoon before.” That made Sean laugh quietly.

            “Do you want to be the big spoon? We could try it out.” Brayden shook his head, and Sean kissed his neck.

            “I’m fine like this.”

            They fell asleep like that, Sean first, but Brayden only a few minutes later, tired and perfectly content.

            He was woken up in the morning by a barrage of French cursing.

            “What?” Brayden asked, sitting up in bed sleepily. “What’s going on?”

            “We have skate in an hour,” Sean informed him.

            “Fuck!” Brayden jumped out of bed and started to get dressed.

            Somehow, they managed to make it to skate together and on time, complete with a stop at Danny’s house to get Sean actual clothes. In the dressing room, Brayden kept sneaking looks at Wayne, Zac, and Matt to see if they were acting strangely, but all they were doing was ribbing Matt, who had apparently hooked up with Becky the waitress the night before.

            “Fuck off, Rino, she was hot.”

            “She was hot. I’m trying to congratulate you, asswipe.” Brayden bit both his lips to keep from laughing, looking up and catching Sean’s eye for a moment. Sean blushed, and Brayden winked at him.

            The next day, they had a game against the Devils and lost, and then took the train up that night to play the Rangers on a one-game road trip. Brayden spent the entire train ride thinking about Sean, even while they were all getting their asses kicked at poker by Scott Hartnell and while he pretended to take a nap against the train’s window so Zac would stop telling him stories of every girl he’d ever slept with in his entire life. 

            “And one time, there was this chick, and she totally wanted to-” Brayden tuned out, thinking about Sean’s hands, how big they were, how good they felt on his skin… “And I was like, whoa,” Zac finished his story, and Brayden barely managed to nod like he halfway cared.

            That night, Brayden was in his room watching TV when there was a knock on the door. He went to answer it, and found Sean.

            “Hey,” Brayden said, stepping back to let Sean in.

            “I thought we could watch a movie or something…where’s Jake?” Sean asked, looking around. Jake Voracek was Brayden’s road roommate.

            “He’s out fucking some girl he met at the hotel bar. You know, like always.” Sean snorted. “No, seriously. Every night, he’s off pulling ass, it’s terrifying. I don’t even know how it’s physically possible to have sex as much as he does.”

            “It’s always the quiet ones, isn’t it?” Sean sounded hugely amused. “So do you want to watch a movie or something?”

            “Um.” Brayden wondered if this was code for something involving blowjobs. “Um, sure.”

            “Awesome.” Sean smiled at him, and Brayden would never admit that his stomach flipped. “Which is your bed?”

            “The one near the window,” Brayden answered, and Sean kicked off his shoes and got on top of the bed, patting the space next to him.

            “C’mere. What do you want to watch?”

            They wound up watching _Pulp Fiction_ , which Brayden had seen a million times but Sean had apparently never seen at all.

            “What? Really?” Brayden had grabbed the remote from Sean and ordered the movie instantly. “You need to see that shit.”

            “Okay,” Sean said mildly, putting his arm around Brayden as the movie started. They’d turned off the lights, so Brayden felt safe in leaning into Sean, resting his head on Sean’s shoulder. It was around the scene where John Travolta stabs Uma Thurman in the heart with a syringe full of adrenalin that Sean leaned over to whisper something in Brayden’s ear.

            “This stuff sure is romantic.” Brayden didn’t know what to say.

            “At least it’s not _Reservoir Dogs_?” he said finally, and Sean laughed, tilting Brayden’s face up and kissing him.

            “Which one is that?” Brayden blinked, trying to tear his thoughts away from how nice Sean smelled and answer the question.

            “The one with Steve Buscemi. You know, with the severed-” And then Sean leaned down and kissed him again, and Brayden smiled against his mouth, grabbing Sean’s shoulders as he rolled on top of him. God, he smelled good—like sweat and Pert and not in the least feminine.

            They made out for over an hour that night. By the end of it Brayden was almost dizzy from either pure arousal or lack of blood to his head, he wasn’t sure. Sean looked positively debauched, his shirt rucked up to his armpits from where Brayden had been touching his chest, his lips swollen from kissing. That visual made Brayden think of Sean on his knees in front of him after he’d sucked Brayden off, and he groaned almost involuntarily.

            “What’s wrong?” Sean asked, dotting kisses along Brayden’s jawline.

            “I think I’m going to die if you don’t touch my dick,” Brayden said in perfect seriousness. Sean reached between them and cupped Brayden’s erection through the thin pajama pants he was wearing, and Brayden almost levitated off the bed. “Sean!” Sean stroked him through his pajama pants a few times, and Brayden felt it approaching, he was so close. “Fuck, stop, stop, or I’m gonna-” Sean just pressed a little harder and rubbed near the head, and Brayden swore colorfully as he came in his pajama pants like a fucking teenager.

            Well, he _was_ twenty, but still.

            He blinked and then looked up at Sean, who didn’t look as triumphant as Brayden would have in his place. Instead, he looked kind of dazed. Brayden reached forward to grab Sean’s crotch—he was going to make the fucker cream his pants if it was the last thing he did—before Sean batted his hand away.

            “Stop.” Brayden looked up at Sean, who looked embarrassed now, and then looked back down and saw the giant wet spot at Sean’s zipper. Apparently he didn’t even need to touch Sean to make him cream his pants. The thought filled Brayden with a sort of intense pride, and instead of mocking Sean like he probably should have if only for the sake of his reputation he leaned in and kissed him, long and thorough.

            “It’s okay. I know you have a weird thing for my O face.” Sean didn’t respond, just kissed Brayden again, and Brayden wondered if he’d accidentally hit the nail on the head.

            “I should go, though,” Sean said apologetically. “In case Jake comes back.”

            “He never comes back until the next morning.”

            “If I stay longer, I’ll fall asleep and then it’ll be next morning.”

            “Simmer, Rino, and Reader all know,” Brayden said, unsure of why he was pressing the point but wanting to. “Jake would be cool.”

            “Simmer, Rino, and Reader are cool with the abstract idea of us together. It’s entirely different to walk into your hotel room and find your road roommate in bed with a teammate.” Brayden sighed. That was true, and he hated that it was. He had liked falling asleep with Sean pressed to his back, one long arm thrown over Brayden’s torso as if to hold him in place. Like there was anywhere else Brayden would rather be at that moment.

            “Okay,” he said, kissing Sean firmly. “Go.” Sean smiled at him as he sat up, put on his shoes, and left.

            They lost to the Rangers in an afternoon game, and on the train back to Philadelphia Brayden and Sean sat next to each other, sharing a blanket as casually as possible and holding hands under it as they watched _Reservoir Dogs_ on Brayden’s laptop. He’d fallen asleep still with his hand in Sean’s.

            “How do you know if you’re dating someone?” This was the next morning over breakfast. Claude had been in the middle of a bite of cereal when Brayden asked the question. He chewed and swallowed, before looking over at Brayden with curiosity on his face.

            “Well, usually if you have to ask, there’s something going on,” he said finally. “Who’s the girl?”

            “Oh, just someone I met a while ago,” Brayden said vaguely.

            “Do you want to date her?” Claude asked, drinking his cereal milk straight out of the bowl, and Brayden thought for a few seconds. Claude saw the answer on Brayden’s face and kept talking. “If you want to, you know, make it clear. She can’t read your mind.”

            “Thank God,” Brayden muttered, thinking of the horrible issues that would come up if Sean could read Brayden’s mind, mostly that he’d know how pathetic it was.

            “Talk to her,” Claude advised. “I mean, if you want it to be serious. If you don’t, then the last thing you should do is mention the ‘e’ word.”

            “The ‘e’ word?”

            “Exclusive.” Claude returned to his cereal. “Done with the touchy-feely questions?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Good. Pass the juice.”

            Brayden kept trying to find the right time to talk to Sean, but unfortunately for his plans they were playing the Maple Leafs in Philly in a few days. He was hanging out with Sean and the Brieres at Danny’s house the day after they played the Islanders when his phone rang.

            “Hello?”

            “What’s up, fuckface!” Brayden groaned, leaning back into the couch pillows.

            “Hi, Luke. Nice to hear from you, dicktard.”

            “No, seriously, Bray, what’s up? Where are you?”

            “Danny Briere’s house,” Brayden answered. Luke was the only human being allowed to call him Bray.

            “Dude, is Claude there? I haven’t hung out with Claude in fucking _years_. You guys should come out to dinner with us!”

            “Who is ‘us’?” Brayden asked warily.

            “Me and Simmer, duh.”

            “You called Simmer before you called me?”

            “Well, yeah,” Luke said, like it was obvious. “He’s way more fun than you. But seriously, Claude! I miss Claude. You two should come out tonight.”

            “Is that Luke on the phone?” Claude asked, sticking his head in from the kitchen, and Brayden nodded. “Give it to me.” Obligingly, Brayden handed over the phone, and Claude cleared his throat before speaking. “Yo, dickbag, how’s life?”

            “Do you and your brother always do that?” Sean asked in a low voice as Claude took the phone into the kitchen, laughing at something Luke had said.

            “Do what?”

            “Call each other names.”

            “Well, yeah. Usually he’s more graphic, though. He calls me ‘queefcookie’ on a regular basis.” This sent Sean into a fit of hysterical giggles. “It’s how we relate, brother-to-brother.”

            “Hm.” Sean sounded hugely amused by this. “Brother-to-brother.”

            “Yeah.” Claude poked his head out of the kitchen.

            “You guys and I are going to dinner with Luke and Simmer. Put your shoes on.”

            They ended up at a diner in Haddonfield Brayden had been to before with the Brieres. When they got there, Luke and Simmer met them in the entryway, and Luke instantly enveloped Brayden in a hug.

            “Ew, gross, quit touching me,” Brayden said, his voice muffled as his face was currently buried in Luke’s shoulder.

            “Missed you,” Luke said, letting him go. “It’s weird as fuck that you have a life now.”

            “Yeah,” Brayden said with a grin, and then Luke turned to Claude.

            “Dude.” They fistbumped. “Nice to see you, asshole.”

            “You too, fuckstain.”

            “You all are too cute,” Simmer said, “but I’m fucking starving. Let’s go eat, huh?”

            They had a good meal—Brayden devoured a stack of blueberry pancakes and some bacon—that was mostly taken up with Claude, Luke, and Wayne ribbing each other ceaselessly. Sean was very quiet, eating his food and watching the three of them tease each other, and Brayden touched his knee under the table.

            “You okay?” he asked quietly.

            “Fine,” Sean said, and then he returned to his hash browns.

            When they were walking out to their cars, before he got into Simmer’s car to drive back to the hotel the Leafs were staying at, Luke pulled Brayden aside.

            “Claude told me there’s a girl.” Brayden nodded, smiling a little bit.

            “Yeah, there is.”

            “Does that girl happen to have a dick and be named Sean Couturier?” Brayden nearly fainted, and Luke laughed.  “Simmer told me on the drive here.”

            “Don’t you dare tell anyone,” Brayden said, red-faced.

            “I wouldn’t. Just, you know, be careful, Bray. Being gay in the league isn’t easy.”

            “You trying to come out to me, Luke?”

            “Shut the fuck up. No, I’m not, I just know a couple people, okay?” Brayden’s eyes flicked over to Claude, and Luke nodded almost imperceptibly. Well, then.

            “Okay,” Brayden said, and then Luke hugged him tightly.

            “See you tomorrow. I’m gonna conquer your ass.”

            “I’m gonna score the gamewinner,” Brayden promised. “You won’t be able to contain this level of awesome for long.”

            “Yeah, yeah. Go on, then. Get a good night’s sleep. You wouldn’t want to be tired when you’re taking your beatdown.”

            “Night, queefcookie.”

            “Night, fuckface.” Brayden went over and got into Claude’s car—he and Sean had driven there separately—and leaned his head on the window, trying to process what he’d just learned.

            Brayden did in fact score the gamewinner against the Leafs, and after the game Luke hugged him and told him how much he’d sucked the rest of the time, his voice shot through with pride.

            “Get on the damn bus, Luke.”

            “Fine, queefcookie.” Luke hugged him once more and then got on the damn bus.

            They played the Rangers at home and lost, and then went on a one-game road trip against the Red Wings and lost that too. Brayden and Sean hooked up once more, in the hotel room while Jake was off with some girl, and as they were lying there cuddling afterwards Brayden _almost_ told him, came within inches of saying it, but couldn’t for some reason. He’d had a mental image of how he’d wanted this to go, and this just wasn’t it.

            They had a whole four days off after the Red Wings game, and the first day back was a completely free day. Brayden went to the gym in the morning, and found himself sitting outside the gym in his car holding his cell phone and staring at it. Finally, he dialed.

            “Hello?”

            “Coots?”

            “Schenner? Hey, man.” Sean sounded a little sleepy, like he’d just woken up from a nap or something. “What’s up?”

            “You alone?” Sean snorted.

            “Yeah, I’m alone. What, going to try phone sex? Because I can already tell you that we’d have the most awkward phone sex ever.”

            “I was not going to try phone sex,” Brayden said self-righteously, because who the fuck did Sean think he was, Simmer? “I need to talk to you, though.”

            “About what?” There was nervousness in Sean’s voice now.

            “I want to talk to you in person,” Brayden said. “Can you come over to Claude’s this evening?”

            “Sure,” Sean said, sounding even more nervous. “See you around seven?”

            “Okay. Bye.”

            “Bye.” Brayden hung up the phone, and promptly dialed Claude.

            “What’s up, Schenner?” Claude asked when he answered the phone. Brayden could hear the sounds of children screaming in the background.

            “Are you at Danny’s?”

            “Yeah. What’s going on?”

            “Look,” Brayden said. “I have someone coming over tonight, and I need you to not be there. Can you stay at Danny’s overnight?”

            “Why? You’ve never cared if I’m there before when you brought chicks through. Why should now be any different? It’s not like we share a bedroom.” Claude did have a valid point.

            “Well, if you _want_ to be kept up half the night by my loud sex, go ahead. I just warn you, she’s a screamer.” The sound of disgust Claude made was priceless, and made Brayden grin into the phone. He knew his roommate pretty well, no matter what anyone said.

            “Fine. I’ll crash at Danny’s. Practice safe sex, you know, glove up and shit. Wouldn’t want you to get the herp or something. Although, knowing you, you probably already have it.”

            “Fuck you,” Brayden said cheerfully. “See you tomorrow.”

            He puttered around the apartment aimlessly for the rest of the day, until at promptly seven there was a knock on the door. He opened it to see Sean, hands thrust into his pockets and an awkward look on his face.

            “Hey!” Brayden said brightly. “Come on in. I ordered Chinese, you want some?”

            “Sure,” Sean said almost warily as he came through the door. Brayden shut and locked it behind him, before showing Sean into the kitchen. The Chinese food was on the table with a six-pack of Yuengling. Sean looked at Brayden askance. “Someone actually believed your name was Paul Bure?”  
            “No, dickhead, Claude got it for me,” Brayden said. “Have a seat.” Sean sat, and looked at the food. “Just dig in,” Brayden said, handing him a fork, and Sean needed no further encouragement to fall to. “What, does Danny not feed you?” Brayden asked, sitting in the chair opposite Sean and beginning to eat, washing his food down with copious amounts of Yuengling. He finished before Sean, and leaned back in his chair, watching Sean eat.

            “That’s kind of creepy, Brayden,” Sean said around a mouthful of General Tso’s.

            “Fuck you,” Brayden said easily.

            “Where’s Claude, anyway?”

            “I told him to be away for the night,” Brayden said casually. Sean put his fork down, giving Brayden a _look_.

            “What’s going on, Brayden?”

            “What?”

            “You tell me to come over, I show up, you’ve got food out and beer and shit, and you’ve arranged for Claude to be somewhere else. What’s up?”

            “You know, most men would be thankful for food, booze, and a night of hot sex. Why are you asking questions?”

            “Because this isn’t like you,” Sean said frankly.

            “What do you mean, it isn’t like me?”

            “It’s…” Sean apparently gave up on finding a polite way to say what he was thinking. “It’s considerate.”

            “I’m-” And then Brayden fell silent. He wasn’t a considerate person, and it was pointless to pretend that he was. “Look, Sean…” Sean was looking at him expectantly. “I mean, you know.” There was a long silence.

            “Brayden, I do not, in fact, know.”

            “Jesus Christ!” Brayden took a deep breath. “Are we dating?” Sean’s face closed off. It was kind of frightening to watch, actually, the way his whole expression just shut down.

            “I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Are we?”

            “Fuck it, Sean, don’t do that,” Brayden said, leaning across the table. “You think I would have bought you dinner and made Claude spend the night in Haddonfield if I didn’t want to, you know, be exclusive?” _There_. He’d used the “e” word. Claude should be proud of him.

            “Exclusive?” Sean was gaping at him, before a slow grin spread across his face. “Exclusive? _Really_ , Brayden?” But he sounded so happy he wasn’t even managing to be sarcastic.

            “Really,” Brayden said firmly. “Because otherwise, God knows who you’d fuck, and I might get the herp.”

            “Like I would be the one to give you the herp,” Sean responded, but he was still grinning from ear to ear. There was a brief silence, during which they just smiled at each other stupidly, before Brayden stood up.

            “Okay, enough talking.” Sean laughed, standing up too. Brayden reached for his beer and drained it—liquid courage, he was pretty sure he’d need some of that for what he had planned next—before grabbing Sean’s hand and half-dragging him into his bedroom.

            There was a bottle of lube and a box of rubbers sitting prominently on Brayden’s nightstand—he’d purchased them in advance of tonight and had thought putting them in his nightstand drawer was pointless. Sean, though, saw it and stopped cold.

            “Brayden.” His voice was measured, calm, and completely unreadable. Brayden fucking hated how Sean could do that, completely hide what he was feeling from him if he wanted to. “Are you expecting something special to happen tonight?”

            “I want you to fuck me,” Brayden said quickly, because it would be better to just _say it_ and have it out there. Sean, though, looked at him in complete shock.

            “Wait, what?”

            “I want you to fuck me, Sean, it’s not that complicated,” Brayden repeated. “Unless you don’t want to.”

            “I thought…” Sean trailed off, before licking his lips and starting again. “I figured, you know, that you’d want to top.”

            “Why?” Brayden asked. There was a silence.

            “I thought you’d be the kind of guy who would have a problem with taking it up the ass,” Sean said finally. Brayden laughed outright.

            “Why? It’s not like one is gayer than the other. They’re both equally gay.”

            “A lot of guys don’t think so.”

            “Well, they’re idiots, and that’s pointless anyway, because I want your dick in me, okay?” He had the immense pleasure of seeing Sean’s Adam’s apple bob as he gulped.

            “Okay,” he said softly, before reaching out for Brayden, who went willingly into Sean’s arms.

            Brayden was all ready for things to be as hurried as they’d been the first time he and Sean had hooked up, but Sean was having none of it. He was kissing Brayden slowly, thoroughly, taking his time as his hands cupped Brayden’s face. Brayden tried to hurry him up a few times, but each time Sean slowed him back down, until Brayden pulled back, flushed and impatient.

            “Sean, come _on_ ,” he said, and Sean pressed a kiss to his forehead.

            “There’s no rush,” he said. “We can take as long as we want.”

            “Too long, I’ll be the one jizzing my pants,” Brayden said, pulling Sean down for a quick kiss. Sean glared.

            “It’s not my fault-”

            “That I’m hot when I come and you want my ass? No, that’s not my fault at all,” Brayden said, grinning up at him. Sean rolled his eyes, but he was smiling again, so Brayden congratulated himself anyway.

            “Get naked and get on the bed, then, Romeo,” he said, and Brayden stripped at lightning speed before climbing on the bed and sprawling out on his back. Sean undressed at a more leisurely pace, but he didn’t stop looking at Brayden once.

            “So,” Brayden asked, propping himself up on his elbows while Sean undid his pants and stepped out of them, “have you ever done this before?”

            “Yes,” Sean said, but he didn’t elaborate further.

            “Care to, you know, tell me about it?” Brayden pressed, curious for reasons he was afraid to admit to himself.

            “I had a boyfriend in Drummondville,” Sean said as he sat down on the foot of the bed to take off his socks.

            “Really,” Brayden said, sudden and irrational jealousy coiling in his stomach. “What was his name?”

            “Michel. You wouldn’t know him, he’s not a hockey player.”

            “Hm,” Brayden said, and Sean stretched out on the bed next to him, reaching over to run his thumb along Brayden’s cheekbone in that familiar, reassuring way. “What did you do with this guy?”  
            “We had sex, Brayden,” Sean said, like it was a stupid question, which Brayden had to admit it kind of was. “People who are dating often do that.”

            “Did you top or bottom?”  
            “I did both. Why are you giving me the third degree on this?”

            “Because…” Brayden took a deep breath. All this honesty tonight was making him feel dizzy. “Because I’m scared, and jealous.” He could tell that Sean understood.

            “You want me to have had the experience, but you’re jealous that I do,” he elaborated, and Brayden nodded.

            “I know that probably makes no sense.”

            “It makes perfect sense.” Sean leaned forward to kiss him, and Brayden sighed a little bit as Sean’s mouth pressed over his own, his tongue tracing along Brayden’s lips as a gentle request to part them. He did and Sean’s tongue slid into his mouth, rubbing against his as Sean himself rolled on top of Brayden, pinning him to the mattress. Eventually, Sean drew back enough to lean his forehead against Brayden’s. “If it makes you feel better, I’m jealous of every puck bunny you’ve ever fucked.” Brayden snorted most indelicately.

            “Why? It’s not like it meant anything.” Sean was quiet for a long moment.

            “Does this mean something?” he asked finally, and there was such open vulnerability in his voice that it made Brayden close his eyes from sheer empathy.

            “I used the ‘e’ word, Sean.”

            “The what?”

            “The ‘e’ word. _Exclusive_. Claude told me not to use that word unless I was really serious.”

            “You asked Claude?”

            “Yeah. He thinks you’re a girl. And that you scream a lot during sex.”  
            “ _What_?” Sean’s pitch could have shattered glass.

            “I had to say something to get him to stay with Danny!”

            “And _that_ was your solution?”

            “It worked, okay?” Sean looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or keep yelling at Brayden. “But my point is,” he said, cutting Sean off before he could speak, “I, you know, like you.”

            “You like me.” Brayden nodded.

            “And I want to have a thing with you.”

            “A thing.” Sean sounded hugely amused now. “You mean, you want to date me.”

            “Yeah,” Brayden said, smiling nervously at Sean. “I want to date you.”

            “Okay,” Sean said agreeably, grinning back. “But first I’m going to fuck you.”

            “Finally,” Brayden muttered, and Sean laughed, leaning in for another kiss.

            “Roll over and spread your legs, then.” Brayden did, looking up at Sean as the latter grabbed the lube and flipped the cap open, covering his fingers. “If you want me to stop, tell me,” Sean said seriously as he leaned down to give Brayden a quick kiss.

            “Is this how you want to…I thought…” Brayden wasn’t sure how to enunciate what he meant, but Sean understood.

            “You said it yourself, I have a thing for your O face,” he said, grinning down at Brayden. “Can’t see it if you’re on your hands and knees. We can do that later.” The thought that there would be a _later_ echoed in Brayden’s head for a few moments—he and Sean were doing this thing, it was official, it was fucking decided—and he found himself grinning back at Sean.

            “Okay, then. Get going, would you?”

            Brayden tensed up when Sean slid the first finger inside him, and Sean kissed his jaw lightly as he began to work Brayden open. Brayden shifted slightly, trying to get used to the sensation of something _inside of him_ , and Sean looked down, concerned.

            “You all right?”

            “Another,” Brayden said decisively. “Put in another.” Sean did so, and Brayden took a deep breath. He wasn’t feeling much of anything good right then, but- “This gets better, right?” Sean laughed.

            “I promise you, it gets a lot better.” He slipped in a third, and Brayden exhaled slowly. Sean shushed him with that same gentle touch to his cheek, and Brayden grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, making Sean smile. “Relax,” he whispered, picking up Brayden’s hand and interlacing their fingers. He was pressing into Brayden more deeply as he spoke, scissoring his fingers. “It’ll be much better if you-”

            “Oh, fuck, _fuck_!” Sean’s fingers had brushed ever-so-lightly against something inside Brayden that made him cry out. “Oh, God!”

            “Good,” was all Sean said, and then he pressed against that spot, very deliberately. Spots swam in front of Brayden’s vision as he gasped for air. “Is that better?”

            “What?” Brayden’s voice was wobbly and he didn’t care.            




            “Is that better?” Sean sounded hugely amused, and Brayden got it.

            “Yes,” he gasped. “Please, Sean, _please_.”

            “Beg for my dick a little harder, Brayden,” Sean said with a laugh as he pulled his fingers out and wiped them on Brayden’s comforter before grabbing the box of condoms and extracting one. Brayden lay there with his eyes closed as Sean put the condom on, before the mattress shifted and Sean pushed Brayden’s knees up to his chest before ranging himself over him. “Ready?”

            “Sean. Inside me. _Now_.”

            “Okay,” Sean said, and he pushed in.

            The stretch took Brayden’s breath away, but once Sean was all the way in and had stopped Brayden opened his eyes and looked up. Sean was flushed, his eyes half-open, and he was biting his bottom lip, hard.

            “Come on,” Brayden managed, arching up to kiss Sean quickly. “I know you, you can’t last for shit, and I want to come already.”

            “Fuck you,” Sean said weakly, but he started to move, and Brayden’s retort that he was in fact fucking him died on his lips. Yeah, that felt good. Weird, but good. He didn’t think he was going to come from just this, though, or at least not until- “Tilt your hips a bit,” Sean said hoarsely.

            “Why—holy _fuck_!” Sean had pressed right against his prostate, and Brayden nearly lost it right then. “Sean, fuck, Sean, _there_.”

            “Yeah, I guessed,” Sean panted, and Brayden would have responded with something sarcastic too except then Sean was thrusting against that spot like it was his fucking _job_ to make Brayden come and everything fell away except for the pleasure that was sparking along his nerves. He was close—so fucking close—and then Sean wrapped his hand around Brayden’s cock, jacking it a few times. The feel of Sean’s huge hand touching him like they’d done this a thousand times before was enough. Hell, it was _more_ than enough. Brayden shouted something—he had absolutely no idea what, but was pretty sure it was either profane or Sean’s name—and came so hard stars winked in front of his vision.

            He lay there on the bed, sprawled out and covered in cum and lube, Sean pinning him to the mattress. After a few minutes Sean lifted his head.

            “What’re you smiling about?” Brayden shook his head, although he couldn’t stop smiling, a wide, sleepy grin.

            “Nothing.” Sean’s eyes narrowed at him.

            “I don’t believe you. Go ahead and mock me, I don’t care.”

            “Mock you for what?” Brayden said innocently.

            “I like to watch you come, okay? I’m your boyfriend now, it’s allowed.” Brayden laughed, kissing Sean firmly.

            “That’s not what I was smiling about.”

            “Oh, really.”

            “Yeah, really. I’m just…” He closed his eyes again and buried his face in Sean’s shoulder, inhaling the smell of his skin. “I’m just really happy.”

            “Good,” Sean said, holding him a little tighter. “Me too.”

            Eventually they had to get up, and Sean half-dragged a sleepy Brayden into the shower, saying that they were both filthy and he was not getting into bed with Brayden until he was clean.

            “But I’m tired,” Brayden whined, and Sean rolled his eyes as he slid open the door and turned the water on.

            “You can wait five minutes, it won’t kill you.” He stepped into the shower, and Brayden followed him, leaning against the shower wall as he watched Sean soap up. It was hot and steamy inside the shower, the soapy water making Sean’s skin look wet and slippery, and Brayden was suddenly not that tired anymore. Sean looked at him funny, before he glanced down and rolled his eyes.

            “Really, Brayden? You came, like, two seconds ago.”

            “Shut the fuck up, it’s not my fault I think you’re hot.” Brayden reached out and before Sean could protest he grabbed Sean’s dick, stroking it and feeling it harden as he touched it.

            “You think I’m hot?” Sean asked somewhat breathlessly as Brayden continued to stroke him.

            “Yeah, I do,” Brayden said softly as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to Sean’s mouth. “I mean, not as hot as me, but who is?” He’d been expecting a quick retort from Sean for that one—he’d basically set it up on a tee for him—but instead Sean shook his head, looking a little dazed.

            “I…” Brayden smiled as he pulled his hand away. “Brayden!”

            “Back up,” Brayden said, giving Sean a light push. Obligingly, Sean stepped back until he was pressed against the back wall of the shower. He looked down at Brayden, confused.

            “What-” Brayden took a deep breath, before leaning forward and kissing Sean.

            “I’ve never done this before,” he murmured into Sean’s ear. “I didn’t have a boyfriend in juniors. So, you know, if it’s terrible, I’m sorry.”

            “What are you-” Brayden took a deep breath and dropped to his knees. Sean made a choked sound from above him as Brayden curled his hand around Sean’s now-very-much-hard cock. The water was beating down on his back, and he knelt there for a few moments, trying to figure out some sort of a _plan_ as to how he was going to do this. “Brayden.” Sean’s voice was shaky but still gentle as he reached down to touch Brayden’s face. “You don’t have to.”

            “I know.” Brayden leaned forward and kissed just the tip of Sean, and that earned him a choked groan and Sean’s hands going into fists by his sides. “I really fucking want to.” And then he leaned forward and took Sean into his mouth.

            Brayden was pretty sure the blowjob was terrible. It wasn’t like he could deepthroat or anything, it took him a good two or three minutes to figure out what the hell to do with his teeth, and he found himself wishing that he’d practiced on something (a banana, maybe?) before subjecting Sean’s dick to his mouth. Judging purely based on Sean’s reactions, though, Brayden had the blowjob skills of a fucking professional. Sean was already in pieces, gasping out disjointed sentences half in English and half in French, his hands tangled in Brayden’s hair. Brayden discovered after a few minutes that if he rubbed his tongue under the head of Sean’s cock he could get Sean to moan like they were in some gay porno, and so he did it again, and again, and then suddenly Sean was yanking at his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt and babbling something about _now, Brayden, now_ , as well as some other stuff in French that sounded really fucking dirty. Brayden only sucked harder, refusing to pull off. Gross or not, he wanted Sean to come in his mouth, if only because he’d come in Sean’s and fair is fair.

            He got his wish less than a minute later when Sean’s hands fisted in Brayden’s hair painfully and he came, moaning Brayden’s name. Brayden drew back, thought for about a half a second whether he wanted to spit or swallow, and then swallowed. It was worth it when he glanced up at Sean to see the look in his eyes as he reached out a hand to help Brayden up. Brayden leaned in for a kiss, and Sean kissed him back slowly and thoroughly as it processed in Brayden’s mind that he’d just given another guy—his _boyfriend_ —a blowjob. For some reason that seemed even more intimate than the buttsex, which was kind of strange. He pulled back, and Sean lifted one hand, brushing the pad of his thumb across Brayden’s lower lip.

            “You’ve got great dick-sucking lips, I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you that.”

            “You’re the first, actually,” Brayden said, wondering if he should be as flattered as he was by Sean’s comment. “I’m sorry, I know that wasn’t very good-”

            “Brayden, you just sucked my cock. The last thing you should be doing is apologizing.” Sean sounded a little breathless and a lot amused. “You’ll get better with practice.”

            “You think I’ll be practicing a lot on you, huh?” Brayden asked, picking the soap back up and starting to wash himself. He was hard again just from the experience of blowing Sean, and was relieved when Sean knocked the soap out of his hand only to pin him to the shower wall and wrap a hand around his cock, starting to jack it firmly.

            “Yeah,” Sean said with a grin as Brayden fell apart leaning against the wall, gasping and begging for more as Sean stroked him. “I think you’ll be practicing a lot on me.”

            They got out of the shower, dried off, and went back into Brayden’s room and got in bed. Like before, they ended up spooning, Sean pressed up behind Brayden with one arm draped over his torso. Brayden covered Sean’s hand with his own, and Sean smiled as their fingers interlaced.

            “You know, I didn’t lie to Claude about one thing,” Brayden mumbled just before he fell asleep. “You are a screamer.”

            “Fuck you,” Sean replied, sounding halfway asleep himself.

            “Anytime.” He felt a gentle kiss on the crook of his neck before he was out.

            Brayden and Claude were over at the Briere house a few nights later, and Brayden was battling Caelan at Soulcalibur while Sean stretched out on the couch next to him. Sean’s knee kept brushing against his, accidentally-on-purpose, and it kept making Brayden mess up. Caelan got up after a few rounds to play some ping-pong and Brayden shot a glare in Sean’s direction.

            “You’re not helping, Couturier.” Sean smiled back angelically.

            “Not trying to help, Schenn.” Brayden really fucking wanted to kiss him right then. He settled for reaching over and delicately brushing his fingers along the inseam of Sean’s jeans, making him suck in a sharp breath.

            “I’m going to fuck you so hard when we’re alone,” Brayden muttered under his breath, and Sean managed a faint smile.

            “Sounds good to me.”

            “Sean! Schenner!” They both jumped and looked up to see Danny. “Dinner’s ready.” He went back into the kitchen, and Brayden squeezed Sean’s knee before he got up too.

            “I hate you,” Sean mumbled as he followed Brayden into the kitchen. Brayden shot him a grin over his shoulder.

            “No, you don’t.” They all sat down at the table, and Sean sighed.

            “No, I don’t.”

            “What are you talking about?” Claude asked him, and Sean grinned at Brayden.

            “Nothing.”


End file.
